Chapter 21 Our Last Farewell

Chapter 21

Our Last Farewell

The sight of the P&O British liner, SS Orcades, anchored at the dock held the children mesmerized, enticing them to search every nook and cranny on her decks and below, to see what amusements and adventures awaited them. Little did I ever dream that one day I would embark on a sea voyage with my family. I finally started to feel the pull of the Australian shores, believing, at last, that this might be an exciting move indeed. During all the planning to get us to that point, Bill had never relented, but had pushed on without faltering in his drive to take care of the next item on the list.

It was dusk when we arrived. Steve helped us find our cabins, and to our dismay they had the children booked into a cabin quite a distance from Bill and me - not an acceptable arrangement at all! Bill wanted to see the purser right away, but I came up with a temporary solution. “Bill, the children can take turns, one to sleep in our cabin, while you and I take turns to sleep with the other three in their cabin. Tomorrow will be soon enough to see the purser to make some other arrangements. Let’s not worry about it now - there’s too much going on.”

“Yeah! That’ll do for now, but that is not the way we booked it. The cabins were closer together.”

We went up on deck as the visitors were being advised to leave the ship. It was dark when the crew raised the gangplank. We eventually spotted Steve on the dock waving to us. We pretended that all the people on the dock had come especially to see us off. Janis was not convinced that this was so, and looked at me in disbelief.

The sea was a little choppy a few miles off shore and we all had difficulty negotiating our way to the cabins. The children argued about who would get the top bunks and who had to sleep with Dad the first night. I pointed out that whoever slept in their father’s cabin got the top bunk as their dad would definitely sleep on the bottom bunk, being afraid of heights. The children’s steward was a 21-year-old Irish boy named Jimmy. He became acquainted with our family right away, happily eyeing Billy’s mania for comic books. Jimmy loved comics.

Our steward Jack was from Liverpool, England and was about 35-40 years of age. He was small in stature with a dark, swarthy complexion and penetrating dark eyes. I did not like the way he looked at our daughter Jerilyn. I drew Bill’s attention to the fact that we needed to watch out for all our children when ever they wanted to go to either cabin alone.

We all stayed close together that first night, except for Billy. At first we were concerned about what kind of devilment he might get up to. We caught sight of him through the window of the main bar, helping himself to the cheese, crackers and nuts set out on the tables for the imbibing customers. The bar was full, and no one seemed to take any notice of Billy. His father retrieved him from the bar and explained that he was not allowed in the bar unless he had our permission.

Off he went in another direction to play with some friends he had already made, while the rest of us watched a family of acrobats practising their skills. I learned later that this was a family of circus performers migrating to Australia. I leaned over the railing and recalled some of my childhood dreams of running away from home and joining the circus. So many of my other dreams had been realized - I was not at all perturbed at not fulfilling that particular one! I believed our family was a small circus and gave Bill and I enough excitement!

We seemed to have walked miles around the decks to get our bearings, and the announcement that supper was being served in the dining room was a welcome relief. We hadn’t eaten a meal since breakfast, only snacked on biscuits and fruit. It was an English ship with an English ‘supper’, not the evening meal referred to as supper in the States. It consisted of dainty sandwiches, cakes and jelly; the children ignored the sandwiches and tucked into the jelly and cakes.

It was about 11 o’clock by the time we all bedded down in our bunks with Jerilyn on the top bunk in our cabin with her Dad and me on a bottom bunk with the other three children. They were still too excited to sleep and it was after midnight before we finally dropped off.

We were in the first sitting for breakfast, and as we walked down the stairway to the dining-room, the motion of the ship and the smell of steaming food wafting up the stairway making us all feel a little squeamish. Jerilyn was the first to turn and run back up on deck, followed closely by Diane. Billy and Janis made it to the table but all they did was stare at the food in front of them. They too, left in a hurry. The children seemed fine in the fresh air, but after about an hour they became green around the gills and lost the previous night’s supper. There was no way we were going to get them back down to the dining-room - not that day, anyway. I brought them some cheese, crackers, fruit and orange juice, pillows and blankets, but they couldn’t face food of any description.

They were miserable.

“Mom, I feel so sick, I want to throw up all the time,” Jerilyn said in a pitiful voice. One by one they succumbed to the dreaded seasickness, and once that took hold there was no stopping it. We made them comfortable, lined them up on deck chairs and left them to drift off to sleep hoping the fresh air would make them feel a little better. Bill and I knew from experience how badly people suffer from seasickness. He and I both admitted having to ride with the rolling of the ship, leaning into the rise and fall of the motion. I found it to be such a ‘mind and tummy game’. One has to keep busy and concentrate on other things. Mind over matter.

Bill and I strolled around the top deck, looked out to sea, and reminisced about my arrival in San Francisco fifteen years before when we stood together on board the war bride’s ship just as we were standing now.

“My, we have covered some ground since then, haven’t we?” Bill said wistfully. What d’you say we go to our cabin and repeat one of our many honeymoons?”

“You forget darling, you will have Jerilyn throwing up in your cabin,” I reminded him, “and I have three more throwing up in mine. We may both finish up sleeping up on deck with our four children heaving their hearts out before the night is through.”

That put a damper on any thought of a shipboard romance. Who would have thought an exciting cruise together would include four seasick children!

It was Christmas Eve when we docked in Hawaii, four days after we sailed. The children finally discovered that they weren’t going to die of seasickness after all. They liked having the ship steady and at anchor. It was good to have them laughing again and anxious to get on to land that wasn’t moving.

We went swimming on Waikiki Beach, and the children teased me about hiring a surfboard - they wanted to see me ride the waves as I had done eight months before, on my way home to Iowa from Australia. Was it only eight months since I was there?

I embarrassed Bill by removing my wet swimsuit in the middle of a busy restaurant. The children giggled while they watched the diners’ faces to see if they could detect what I was doing. There was no mystery to removing any under garments while wearing a muumuu. The long gown, Hawaii’s national female attire, covers a multitude of secrets (and sins). No one gave a second glance!

We took the children back on board the ship to stay with some fellow-passengers while Bill and I did some last minute Christmas shopping. I made some phone calls to the Islander Hotel, to invite some of the friends I had made on my last stay in Hawaii to come dine with us on the ship. None of my friends were on duty at the hotel desk - they would not be working till 10 o’clock that night. All I could do was leave them a message.

I called into the Post Office where I had met Sammy Yamamoto, and found that he had received a promotion and been transferred to another island. It had been a long time since I had heard from him, but the rest of the staff remembered me and would pass on my message to Sammy.

As we walked past the back entrance to the Honolulu newspaper production the back door was wide open and we watched the presses rolling. Attached to the outside of the door was a large notice:

WANTED URGENTLY LINOTYPE OPERATOR.

“Oh, Bill! What a wonderful opportunity! Why don’t you go in and apply right now! We still have three hours before we sail.” I was shivering all over with anticipation, hoping Bill would at least see what they were offering.

“You have got to be kidding! We are migrating to Australia and you want me to apply for a job in Hawaii?”

He was astounded at my suggestion. “We have four children on board, waiting for us. Our crate and trunks are in the hold of the ship. What on earth has gotten into you?”

“Honey! I don’t think you should let an opportunity go by! What if things don’t work out when we get to Australia and you have a hard time getting a job? Talk to them. Keep in touch! Who knows what the future has in store?” I squeezed his arm and jokingly retorted. “You know, I wouldn’t mind living in Hawaii at all. I’m just sorry we hadn’t given it any consideration.”

“Well! I, for one, would not like to live in Hawaii!” Bill was not happy with me. I wonder why!

We finished our shopping and all earlier differences of opinion were set aside. The children were all excited about having Christmas at sea. Jerilyn and Diane assured Billy and Janis that it didn’t matter where we were in the world, Santa Claus would find us.

Sailing time was delayed because some members of the crew were missing, and were being rounded up by the police from the local bars and delivered to our ship. We could see our waiter Karl on the dock, a big happy fellow towering over a couple of his friends who were trying desperately to keep him upright.

Bill and I resolved our differences over the Honolulu newspaper advertisement. It was clear that I had been influenced by the wonderful people I had met in Hawaii. Although I had made some very important contacts for future business possibilities, Bill and I agreed that we were, after all, migrating to Australia.

This was the first time the family had eaten together in the dining room, and we all had healthy appetites. Our waiter, Karl, was a happy drunk but in no condition to be serving at the tables after shore leave. The children spluttered in fits of laughter until he suggested we serve ourselves as quietly as possible. When Bill dropped a heavy lid on the deck while helping Janis get some vegetables, Karl grabbed both sides of his head and moaned mournfully: “Please! Please! Be very quiet!” The alcohol was kicking like a mule, and Karl was not feeling so good.

Christmas morning – each of us found our pillowcase at the foot of the bunk and there was a mad scramble to tip the contents out to see all the gifts at once. The usual family tradition of taking turns, to make our Christmas last for hours seemed to melt away and we had all taken on a frivolous, seafaring attitude. Why not be different? When at sea, act however one feels, befitting the moment! It was an unusual Christmas.

The next day was Janis’s sixth birthday, and I spoke to Karl about doing something special for her. He said to leave it in his capable hands. Usually her birthday on the 26^th December got lost in the festivities, so we usually had a party for her half birthday on June 26^th. That year she celebrated twice, and with another birthday cake, too, compliments of the chef.

Billy wanted us to go up on the top deck so he could show us where he spent most of the time when he didn’t feel so good - between Los Angeles and Hawaii. He took us into one of the upper deck bars, and said he had plenty of cheese and crackers, and some people bought him lemonade and that stopped him from being seasick any more. His dad started to reprimand him but thought better of it. Billy had used his wits to overcome his seasickness.

One gentleman who attracted my attention looked like a writer or a university lecturer; always with a book in front him or tucked under his arm and usually alone. He seemed to be doing the rounds of the bars. I saw him all alone in a deck chair, reading, and decided I would introduce myself and get acquainted. “Good morning! You seem to be engrossed in that book. I hope I’m not intruding,” I remarked.

“No! No! As a matter of fact, I wasn’t even reading the book,” he said, with an air of guilt. “I was hiding behind it, experiencing a little seasickness and hoping no one would notice.”

“Oh! I am sorry to hear that. I won’t bother you. I’ll walk away and pretend we never met. I hope you feel better soon.”

“Please stay!” he asked, waving his hand in a beckoning motion. “Where are you heading? I’m from New Zealand.” He looked pale and disenchanted as he spoke, which made me feel as though I should leave the poor man to his misery.

“I’m originally from Australia but have lived in the U.S. for fifteen years. My name is Ruth Frost.”

“My name is Jack.” We shook hands. His hand was cold, clammy and limp, without life. His speech sounded more Oxford than New Zealand:

“You have quite an American accent. Were you a war bride?” He shifted position in his chair as he spoke, lifted himself to an upright sitting position and made an attempt to look interested.

“Yes, I was a war bride. I lived in Iowa, where our four children were born. Have you been travelling in the States, Jack?”

“Oh! No!” he sighed, and exhaled noisily then coughed with a consumptive rattle on his chest. He was a sick man. “I have been living and writing in California for the past thirteen years, and I am going home to see my sister in New Zealand.”

At this stage, Bill and the children advanced along the deck, all excited about something they wanted me to see right away. I introduced Bill to Jack as the children were pulling me away from the deck chair. “Maybe we’ll talk again, Jack. Take care of that cough! Hope you feel better soon!” I said, as I waved to him then left with our wild bunch.

We were passing another liner on the port side of the ship, The Arcadia, a sister ship to The Orcades. She was heading towards Hawaii. Each ship blasted her horn by way of a greeting, and we all waved frantically, but we were too far away for us to see anyone on deck.

“It looks like a ghost ship with no one on board,” Billy said, as though he was thinking up a good, spooky story. “What do you suppose might have happened to all the passengers on that ship? What made them disappear?” Janis froze; remembering some of the scary stories Billy told her at bedtime to frighten her.

The two older girls went to their cabins to change clothes. I followed a few minutes later and saw our cabin door open. Jack, our steward, was offering to hook up Jerilyn’s sun-suit. He had walked in on her as she was dressing, and she didn’t know what to do. I certainly knew what to do! I was ready to punch him.

“Don’t ever let me catch you around my daughter again, or I’ll report you!” He was all apologies and professed that it was his job to be helpful, and he meant no harm. I doubted that! He was looking to helping himself! We moved Jerilyn over to the four-bed cabin and Billy slept with his dad.

The following day, an elderly couple approached me while I was about to wring Billy’s neck for being in the bar again sneaking the nibbles on the tables.

“Excuse me! We’ve been looking for you!” the lady called out. “We saw you in Hawaii when we were having lunch, and we noticed the Orcades tags on your beach bags. We admired your family, such a lovely family, and thought how well-behaved your children are.” She patted Billy on the head.

I released my grip on the scruff of his neck. “Billy, go find your dad and ask him to come to the bar, please?” I wanted him to hear this - I was sure something interesting was going to evolve from this conversation.

“We are in first class and there are so many rude, bratty kids running wild,” the gentleman added with venom in his voice. “After we saw your family in Hawaii, we thought we would come down to second class and see if we could find you. It took us three days!”

Bill appeared and sat next to the lady when she patted the padded seat beside her. He had left a message with the cabin steward for the girls when they got back from the craft class. We made our introductions, and discovered that these two elderly people, Iris and Grover Harris were also migrating to Australia from California. They had purchased a two-storey house in Scarborough, Queensland, when they came over for a visit the year before to look around. They would be well established when they landed. Iris, originally from Brisbane, was aghast when I told them that we had contemplated setting up the tent on the beach in Frankston, Victoria.

“Don’t worry, Iris, she is joking,” Bill assured her. “Her father found a two-bedroom house for us, and has been paying the rent until we arrive. Housing is quite a problem in the States too, isn’t it? The building trade still hasn’t caught up since the war in either country.”

That was the most Bill had talked to any adult since we left Iowa! It was good to see him socializing; usually he liked his own company and didn’t go out of his way to strike up conversations with strangers. With me it’s different - I don’t know the meaning of the word ‘stranger’!

The two men talked about their professions. Grover Harris had owned a large engineering firm, which he sold before he left the States. He was under contract to the US Navy during the war, supplying cranes and other heavy equipment for shipping. He and Iris, neither one of them young anymore were not looking for a wartime romance but hoping to find companionship in their later years. This was the third marriage for Grover after Iris met him in Brisbane.

Two hours later, Bill was drinking his third beer and was having no trouble holding up his end of the conversation, while Grover was on his sixth scotch-on-the-rocks. Our four children arrived, and Grover called to the bar attendant to bring more drinks all round and fill up the snack bowls. He tipped the waiter and wouldn’t hear of our contributing. I removed all the nibbles to another table because it would spoil the children’s appetites. We made plans to visit Iris and Grover in first class the following day. They would come down and meet us at the bar and escort us as their guests. (Second class passengers did not have free access to first class facilities).

They were already sitting in the bar the next day waiting for us. We felt rather honored that someone would get so excited about our family. Billy had been warned to be on his best behaviour and not to take off alone. We didn’t see too much of first class; most of the time we sat in the glassed-in section in the bow below the Bridge and just talked. As the children were used to moving about and being active, they were fidgeting. Jerilyn and Diane had a new book they wanted to read so we cut our visit short.

“Will you come back tomorrow? We’ll come get you at 2 o’clock,” Iris asked.

“You had better make that 4 o’clock, Iris. The children have planned activities in the afternoon.” I wasn’t sure of their activities, but I could see they weren’t having any fun listening to us talk, and I was sure they didn’t want to see first class again.

“If you don’t play chess, they don’t want to know you in first class,” Iris said sarcastically. “They’re such lot of snobs. Grover and I like a good hand of poker, don’t we dear?”

“I’m afraid Bill and I aren’t much for cards, Iris, but I’m sure the bartender could put you in touch with some poker players in second class. Would you like me to ask him?”

“No! No! That’s all right dear. We’d just as soon sit and talk. Maybe another day!”

I think she meant, sit and drink. We couldn’t keep up the pace.

Bill reminded me it was almost time for dinner. On the way to the dining room I saw Jack, the New Zealander, sitting alone in the bar with the same book in front of him. He appeared to be very drunk. The bartender was asking him to leave, refusing to serve him any more drinks. I watched the drama for a few minutes and Bill pulled me away. “You can’t save them all, Honey! Let’s go eat.”

I’ve never seen the children so hungry. They’ll eat almost anything since we left Hawaii. It’s good to see them with an appetite again.

The next day the children woke me from a nap, insisting I come right away. “Look, Mother! We must be there already!” Janis said excitedly. “We can see land!”

When I got to the upper deck I could see a beach with sand so white it looked fluorescent. Bill had told me about the beaches at Kiriwina, where he was stationed during the war, and how the sand was so sparkling white sunglasses were needed because of the glare. We were close enough to the Pacific Islands to see the people waving to us.

“Sweetheart, we may pass a few of those tiny islands in the Pacific before we stop in Fiji,” I explained to Janis. “Then we will stop again for a day in New Zealand.” Janis was quite happy with my explanation and went off to play. It occurred to me that our children were being exposed to a multi-cultural world. If we had stayed in Iowa, they wouldn’t have had that kind of experience or exposure until they grew up and moved about in the world. Before we got on the train to Los Angeles, Diane was the only one of our children who had ever seen a black American. All the train porters were African-American and our other three children asked us many questions. Diane spoke up and explained that they were no different from us except the color of their skin was darker. After that, our children never needed to ask any more questions.

We arrived in Suva, Fiji, early in the morning, and the children bounced with energy during breakfast. They didn’t want food only action on land. We warned Karl, our waiter, not to get drunk; otherwise we might not be so tolerant with his hangover the following morning. He promised to behave himself.

Seeing the Fijian police, with their huge frizzy hairstyles and wearing white skirts, held our interest for some time. The children walked backwards, watching them as they passed by. There were so many things that fascinated them, I felt warm inside when they wanted to know everything. A group of people were viewing a huge turtle that had been caught by the natives and our girls got upset when they heard that a hotel had bought it to serve to their clientele. Travel is surely an education in itself, and I was glad I was able to share this awakening in our children.

While the ship was berthed in Fiji, we got talking to Val and Joe Bolton. They were migrating to New Zealand with their two children. Val had met Joe, a marine, when he was stationed in New Zealand during the war. Another war bride!

Their children and our children got along so well that they could hardly wait to meet up with each other again, right after breakfast. Jerilyn and Alison Bolton had already exchanged addresses so as to correspond after they landed. Joe would be working for Sonata Laboratories at New Lynn, Auckland. NZ.

“It was Val’s family that set the job up for me. We will stay with her folks until we find a place of our own,” Joe explained. “What about you, Bill, do you have a job lined up?”

“Ruth wrote to someone she used to work for in Melbourne. His name is Gordon…. Shay Gordon,” Bill recalled. “He was kind enough to send me a letter of introduction to get an interview with the Herald Sun newspaper.”

We were only three days out of New Zealand, and regretting the fact that we hadn’t met the Bolton family until we went back on board The Orcades in Fiji. Val had said the same thing: “What a pity we didn’t meet sooner.” We met for afternoon tea, and talked about a game of scrabble for the adults at the tables near the open bar, while the children were anxious to get back to the railing to watch the flying fish.

We all jumped with fright at the sound of the ship’s horn. It kept blasting away, leaving us in no doubt that the alarm was a serious matter. We were about to round up the children, collect our life jackets and go to our assigned lifeboats, when a voice, very English, crisp and clear over the public address system, announced to a very quiet and attentive ship: “A gentleman has fallen overboard and the ship is going to turn around and look for him. Thank you. That is all.”

“Where is Billy? Everyone look for Billy! Girls! Have you seen Billy?”

“Honey! There’s no need to panic,” Bill assured me. “They said a man fell overboard, not a child. We’ll find Billy! He’s probably eating all the cheese and crackers in the bar.”

Rescue at sea brings the passengers closer together. Up on the top deck rumours were flying. There were many versions of what might have happened. Amid the throng, our son Billy crawled out on his hands and knees, between the legs of the passengers. I was never so glad to see him! Billy had the whole story, and was the centre of attention while he related the details.

“It was Jack Mom, the New Zealander; he had climbed up on to the top of the rail and jumped overboard. I saw him do it.”

More details came from the bartender. Under strict orders, all the bartenders had continually refused to serve him. Jack had the DTs and had become extremely hard to handle. One passenger, who had stood at the rail next to Jack some time earlier, was feeling very guilty.

“He was ranting and raving and being obnoxious. Then he said, ‘No one cares what happens to me. I might as well jump overboard!’ I told him to ‘go ahead’ and walked away. I was only kidding!” The passenger was quite upset.

It took about an hour for the ship to make a wide circle in the middle of the ocean, leaving a huge wake behind it. A further hour passed before the rescue boat found Jack’s body. He had broken his neck when he hit the water. It took another hour to turn the ship around and head south again.

The next day, early in the morning, Jack was buried at sea. He had told me that his sister was to meet him at the dock in Auckland. Jack was only three days away from seeing his sister after being separated for thirteen years.