The second in my series of short stories. I have often considered turning this one into a novel. Your thoughts would be appreciated.
I knew from the moment we took to the dance floor that I had fallen hopelessly in love with Alicia Marie Courtenay. What I did not know was what I would have to endure in order to win her hand in marriage.
In the fifties and sixties, the Heidelberg Town Hall on Saturday nights was the centre of every young person’s universe. It was where the promise of romance was born or buried depending on one’s success on the evening. For over a month, I had been observing the most beautiful creature my young eyes had ever laid eyes on. I observed every flutter of her eyelashes, every contour of her face, the generosity of her lips and the grace of her elongated fingers. The softness of her flaxen hair as it danced with her every movement. However, what mostly endeared me to her and caused me to become besotted was her smile. She had an angelic smile that invited acceptance and informality. It seemed to put those around her at ease. I called it ‘A certain smile’. Two things concerned me. The first was my inability to raise enough intestinal fortitude to ask her for a dance and the second was the endless line of potential suitors that hovered around.
‘Ryan Francis O’Neil.’ said my mother while admonishing me with pointed finger. ‘You have the cheekiest grin that God ever put on an Irish lad’s face. It’s enough to win the heart of any girl. Just open your mouth. God only knows you have the gift of the gab’. And a voice to go with it.
I had been telling my mother about my infatuation with Alicia for a fortnight and her patience with my procrastination was at its end. My parents had emigrated from Ireland, settled in Melbourne eventually rented a housing commission property in West Heidelberg and produced five offspring, me being the youngest. My father was a union shop steward on the waterfront and processed a formidable worldly intelligence that often took people by surprise. His name was Patrick but everyone called him Paddy. We both had a love for books and words. He would often say to me that we should read with openness to the possibility of being radically changed.
As for me, I had left school early to become a copy boy with the Melbourne Age and at eighteen; I was starting a part time journalism course at Melbourne University having acquired a scholarship sponsored by my fathers Union. My ultimate aim was to become a writer in the Irish tradition of Yeats, Wilde, Joyce and Butler. A lofty ambition but I was determined nevertheless.
With my mother’s encouragement I was determined to break the ice with the girl who had invaded my earthly consciousness. The next Saturday night I took my usual position leaning against one of the ornate pillars that surrounded the dance floor area. When I looked across the floor she was nowhere in sight. My eyes searched the ballroom in vain until I caught sight of a red dress. A group of boys whose attention she obviously commanded obscured her. They dispersed when the bandleader announced the next dance. Well’ except for one boy whose request for the fox trot she polity refused. This is my chance I thought but my feet were stuck in concrete. Then she looked my way and smiled. I responded with a boyish look of longing innocence but still my feet would not move. She rose from her chair and a red mirage headed in my direction. It was like slow motion as this beautiful creature glided toward me. When she was within a yard or so, my cheeky Irish grin and her certain smile merged to form their own seduction.
‘Would you care to dance?’ said a voice reminiscent of an Irving Berlin love song.
‘I thought I was supposed to issue the invitation.’ I responded.
‘Well normally yes but I have been waiting for a month now and my tolerance isn’t unlimited.’ We both laughed and her certain smile induced an embrace that sent us fox trotting effortlessly to the tune of ‘My Secret Love’.
‘Your name?’ she whispered in my ear.
‘Ryan Francis O’Neil’. I said. ‘And yours?’
‘Alicia Courtenay’. She answered.
Thereafter we danced every dance and at the end of the night, I asked her to accompany me for a milkshake at the milk bar not far from the Town Hall. We stayed for an hour or more and easy conversation flowed although I did most of the talking. My mum was right. I did have the gift of the gab. A young man of around my age entered the shop and sat down in our booth. I rose in objection but Alicia placed her hand on my wrist and said.
‘It’s all right Ryan. This is my twin brother Christopher.’
‘Call me Chris’ he said with a demeanor that matched his sisters.
‘We had better be moving Sis. You know what Father’s like if we’re past twelve’.
‘Where do you live?’ I asked.
‘Eaglemont.’ answered Chris adding. ‘We can walk from here.’
‘Wow Eaglemont. Bourgeois upper class eh’. Do you mind if I walk with you’? When we reached our destination, they stopped. I looked around and asked where the house was.
‘Its up that drive’ Alicia said. I peered into the darkness but could see nothing. Chris set of into the gloom saying.
‘Don’t be to long sis.’ Once again alone with Alicia I found myself stranded in the awkwardness of my youth. It was the moment that I learned that Alicia would always lead me in my moments of clumsiness or embarrassment. She took my hand thanked me for the evening and said.
‘So when are you going to take me out Ryan O’Neil’?’
‘You mean like a real date’
‘Of course. Ring me during the week and we will arrange something’ Then she placed her hand on my cheek gave me a fleeting peck on my lips and disappeared into the night.
‘What’s the number?’ I yelled after her.
‘There is only one Courtenay in Eaglemont’ said a voice from the blackness.
On Sunday morning at breakfast, I told my parents about the breakthrough with Alicia and how excited I was. Dad asked her name and where she lived. I gave them the details and told them I hadn’t seen the house because it was dark.
‘Eaglemont did you say son.’
‘Yes Dad.’ I answered.
‘Must be Sir Ronald Courtenay, the minister for education. Followed his father into politics. The family’s filthy rich with old money. The old boy inherited the lot. He lost his wife to cancer a few years ago and has had to raise the children on his own.
Gee, I know how to pick them I said rather flippantly, and the frown on my fathers face spoke more than words.
‘You had better get a move on son we don’t want to be late for Mass.’ said my mother.
The following Wednesday I phoned Alicia and we arranged to go boating on the Yarra at Studley Park. Dad loaned me his FJ Holden for the day. When I picked her up, she was waiting on the footpath with a picnic hamper. I momentarily glanced up the driveway. There was a Bentley parked at the front of the most enormous home I had ever laid eyes on. A chauffer was polishing the black duco of a Bentley. Alicia was wearing a pair of white cotton shorts with a pale blue woolen top. The shorts so accentuated her lovely long legs that I was transfixed with a stare that wouldn’t hide.
‘Do you always stare at girls like that Ryan Francis O’Neil?’
‘Only when I am intoxicated by their beauty’ I replied.
‘We had better hurry. Daddy’s off to Canberra for a cabinet meeting and I told him I was playing tennis at the club’.
‘And he wouldn’t approve of me I take it?’ She replied by saying that her father was often bad tempered and his grumpy ness often displayed a lack of social grace.
‘Look over there’. She said. We can picnic under that willow. I was relieved because I had rowed upstream for a couple of miles and my arms were killing me. The spot she had selected was secluded with a small sandy beach full of sunshine and the warmth of the day. A willow tree hung over the area like a canopy. Alicia arranged a large rug and served salad and chicken. Then she surprised me by producing a bottle of champagne. It had a string attached to its neck and she gently lowered it into the rivers depth and tied the other end to a branch. I looked at her with a puzzled expression.
‘Nicked it from my father’s bar.’ He won’t notice. Anyway we have to celebrate our first date.’ She said.
‘Agreed but I was referring to the ingenuity of the cooling method.’ She laughed and gave me that certain smile and I knew that from this day on she would be my one and only love. I also knew that I would do everything in my power to one day marry her’.
We talked for an inordinate amount of time about our families our friends, school and work. We reached into the inner recesses of each other and found mutual understanding even obligation. We discussed the enormous difference in our backgrounds and religious beliefs. She had ambitions to become a doctor and was generous in her encouragement of my writing.
‘When you speak your voice is like listening to music. Compose a poem for me.’ She said.
‘All right but I might need some champagne.’ She retrieved the bottle from its chilly hideaway and poured two glasses. I took a sip looked into the clear waters of the flowing river and waited for inspiration to come from the labyrinth within.
Two young lovers
Come face to face
A summer’s day
Her certain smile
His want of a place
In the young girls heart
If she is listening
He wants to start
Alicia absorbed the words and repeated the poem substituting some of the words.
Two young lovers
Come face to face
A summer’s day
His Irish grin
Her want of a place
In the young boys heart
If he is listening
She wants to start
She lent toward me and placed her hand on my cheek as she had on Saturday night but this time our lips met with an intimacy hitherto unknown and our embrace was only broken when some kids in a canoe came upon us screaming and laughing. When they passed, our kisses became more passionate and eventually she drew away from me. I looked into her face thinking I had taken things too far. She saw my concern and consoled my thoughts with her certain smile. We snuggled together in the shade of the willow tree finished the champagne and dosed of in pensive thought.
I was awakened from my slumber by Alicia’s shaking.
Let’s go for a swim?’
‘I don’t have any bathers.’ I protested but before I could blink, she had taken off her clothes and was in the water. I sat on the bank hypnotized by the beauty of her nakedness.
‘Come on Ryan the water’s exquisite.’ She said with a voice that appealed to my courage or lack of it.
‘I can’t I’m embarrassed.’ I said.
She walked from the water and stood in front of me. ‘Ryan Francis O’Neil, She said in a serious tone. Promise me that in the future you will never be embarrassed by anything that we do or say with each other. Meekly I took my clothes off and she led me into the water like a puppy, a willing one at that.
A month later, we were sitting in the milk bar with Alicia’s brother. We had left the dance early for a chat. Chris was writing an essay on “The Fourth Estate” and wanted some ideas from me. At the end of our conversation Alicia announced that she was going to invite me to lunch the following Sunday.
‘You must be joking Sis’ Chris said with a nervous edge and eyes the color of distress. ‘The old bastard will flip his lid. An Irish Catholic for lunch on Sunday after church! You must be out of you mind. And isn’t Reverend Salisbury coming this week? Chris turned to me and indicated that he meant no offence to me. Which I knew to be true because in a short time we had gained each other’s trust and his disposition was similar to his sisters.
‘I have made up my mind’ she said with the abandonment of logic that women in love tend to demonstrate. For my part having had Sir Ronald’s authoritarian hold over his family explained to me I was naturally apprehensive but at the same time, I knew that I would have to meet Sir Ronald eventually.
I arrived at one pm and Chris greeted me at the front door with a frown as dark as the moon’s absence. Alicia appeared soon after and escorted me to the dining room where the family and invited guests was assembled together with the Reverend Salsbury. I was introduced to the cohort and eyes were raised at the mention of O’Neil. When we were all seated Sir Ronald strode into the room apologizing that he had to take a call from Prime Minister Holt. He sat at the head of the table and surveyed the congregation as did Reverend Salsbury an hour or so before. His eyes fell on me sitting next to Alicia.
‘Are you going to introduce the young man Alicia?’ He said.
‘I’m sorry Father my thoughts were in another place. This wasn’t so because I could feel her leg trembling against mine. This is Ryan O’Neil. He has been escorting me to the town hall dance the last few months’. He said nothing and our wine glasses were filled by a middle-aged female servant. I took a sip and recognized the bouquet. That’s a Brown Brothers 1957 Shiraz if I’m not mistaken I ventured while swirling the contents of my glass.
‘You have experience with wine son?’ said Sir Ronald.
‘No not I.’ I answered. ‘My father.’ He prefers Grange though. He has taught me much about the subject’.
‘You mean he has access to Grange?”
‘Yes Sir Ronald.’
‘Is he in the industry?’
‘Oh no sir he’s a wharfie. A shop steward as a matter of fact’. Sir Ronald almost choked on his wine.
‘A bloody warfie and a bloody communist synpathiser I’ll bet.’
‘No sir, both my father and I abhor communism.
‘Did you say your name was O’Neil?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘Irish.’
‘Yes sir’. I answered coolly
‘He looked at Alicia and asked. ‘What’s a Pope loving Irish communist son of a warfie doing in my house?’ Particularly on a Sunday.’ Before Alicia could respond, I asked if I might ask a question. He didn’t respond so I went on anyway. ‘My question is hypothetical. If you were on death’s bed and the only way you could be saved was by way of a risky operation but the only available surgeon was a Pope loving Irish Catholic communist sympathizer, would you have the operation?’
‘Not a hope in hell son.’ He answered.
‘Then I can only conclude that you are a fool Sir Ronald’. A dank and deathly silence insinuated itself on the room and was only broken by the sound of three silver eating utensils intruding on expensive crockery.
‘Young man.’ He said angrily.’ You would be well advised to leave now you impudent young twit.’
‘Of course.’ I said rising from my chair. ‘In my family we know the difference between manners and civility. You sir obviously do not.’ Please enjoy your meal.
I’ll see you to the door.’ Alicia said.
‘Stay where you are.’ Her father shouted.
‘Shut up Father. I’ll come with you and apologise for father’s behavior.’ It was the first time Christopher had ever answered his father back. At the door, Alicia embraced me and I took with me the extension of a long and lasting kiss together with the odor of her perfume. She said she would ring me later in the day. Chris walked me to the front gate and profusely apologized for his father’s behavior.
I didn’t receive Alicia’s call so the next evening I sought out Chris in the Law faculty library at the university. I knew he haunted the place and I found him at a table behind a stack of textbooks sitting especially close to another young man. He always greeted me with a hug, which was a trifle unusual for males of the time, but it seemed natural when one considered that he and Alicia were so similar.
‘Ryan’, he said, ‘Alicia asked me to give you this.’ He passed me an envelope. It was the first time I had seen her hand writing which was delicate and femininely tasteful. Its contents explained the aftermath of my dismissal from the dining table. Reverend Salisbury had taken early leave saying that he had more work to do on the evening sermon. Father had then taken Alicia and Christopher into the library shut the door and given them a lecture longer than the book of Job. It was all about class and the importance of maintaining proper friends for the possibility of more permanent arrangements later. Why couldn’t he just say marriage I thought to myself? By God, he’s going to be in for a shock when he finds out about Christopher I thought. Alicia had been banned from ever seeing me again to which she had defiantly looked into her fathers eye’s and said, stop me! The letter ended by saying that Christopher had offered to take her rowing on Saturday. Please be there my darling Irish Catholic communist sympathiser. I love you Ryan Francis O’Neil.
Saturday morning showed all the signs of being a scorcher. At breakfast, I explained to Mum and Dad what had happened the day before. They were both disgusted with Sir Ronald’s behavior. Mum said she would like to give him a piece of her mind. Dad on the other hand was more interested in his reaction when I mentioned the Grange. I confessed to them my love for Alicia and told them I was meeting with her and her brother at Studley Park. Because he was using the FJ all day, he offered to drive me. We arrived at 11am, which was a little early so we sat in the car and talked.
‘I want you to know you did the right thing in confronting Sir Ronald.’ He said. ‘If you love the girl don’t let anything stand in your way.’
‘I don’t intend to dad.’ I replied with certainty.
‘See you at four o’clock then.’ I hired a canoe and paddled to the overhanging willow tree. A few minutes later Alicia and Chris came around the bend. Chris leapt out of the boat and greeted me with his usual hug and when Alicia alighted I was blessed with her certain smile. It never failed to melt my emotions.
‘Well I’m of for a swim.’ said Chris as he took of all his cloths and ran naked into the river.
‘Have you two no modesty at all.’ I said. Chris turned saying he would be back in half an hour for lunch.
‘I think Chris has the sexiest backside I have ever seen.’ Alicia remarked.
‘So you’re an expert on the beauty of the male buttocks.’ I replied.
‘Just part of my anatomy studies for when I commence medicine.’
‘Would you like to examine me them?’
‘Yes but not now. Let’s make plans for coping with the obstacles father is sure to put in our way.
An hour later Chris arrived to find us sky larking about in the shallows and joined in the frivolity. After a while, we dried off dressed and ate lunch. Chris produced a bottle of Brown Brothers Shiraz.
‘Thought you might like this Ryan.’
‘It’s not the 1957 is it?’
‘Yes I snuck down to the cellar early this morning.’ Chris said and we all burst into spontaneous laughter. He asked us about our plans and his part in them, He half jokingly said that the cost would be my unmitigated loyalty and friendship. I felt a pang of sagacious understanding because I knew that he was referring to his inability to share the knowledge of his homosexuality. I answered by telling him that he already had my loyalty and friendship. I added that in my family we tolerated and understood difference. He turned to Alicia and told her what a fine catch I was.
‘A Ryan will come into your life someday Christopher I’m sure of it.’ Alicia said. We finished the remainder of the food and wine and as we were packing up a canoe with two men in it came round the bend. They were both wearing dark suits and ties. The one not paddling was taking photographs and snapped some of us as they rowed past. How odd I thought to myself.
Over the next eighteen Months, I became incredibly close to Alicia. Our hearts and minds became a fusion of sanguine optimism for the future despite Sir Ronald’s crass attempts to curtail our relationship. The depth of our love became so intense that it frequently demanded sexual fulfillment but we refrained because our love also had a need for truth and purity. So even though we often slept together we developed a plutonic relationship that sufficed our desires. Besides Sir Ronald had threatened that if his daughter became pregnant he would disown her. Chris was also under pressure to find a girlfriend but instead found love with the boy in the law facility library. His name was Roger Thornley and we often went camping and socializing together. They had all become part of and welcomed into my family. Often Chris and Roger would sleep over and felt safe in an accepting environment. There was nothing the boy’s and Alicia liked better than to arrive on Friday nights with steaming hot fish and chips and a few bottles of beer and enter into an intellectual discussion with my father. We were all well read and we discussed topics that ranged between Isail Berlin’s “The Dangers of Idealism” through to Solzhenitsyn’s denouncement of communism in “The Gulag Archipelago”. This of course was all made easier when the Prime Minister decided on a cabinet reshuffle mid term. The country was fully involved in the Vietnam War and he was appointed Foreign Minister. Consequently, he was out of the country more often than not. He had reluctantly accepted the post probably because he was not in a position to disclose his true objection for not wanting the job. The relief was enormous. Dark colored cars stopped cruising past our house. The telephone reverted to its original dial tone and strangers in suits stopped harassing us at university. My marks were given their just rewards without me having to complain to the Vice Chancellor.
The following year I turned twenty and became eligible for the draft, which was conducted in the form a lottery. At twenty, we were not eligible to vote but the government considered us old enough to die in a war that was none of our business. We all missed selection. I missed just on the luck of the draw. Chris and Roger were eliminated because they declared their homosexuality, which guaranteed exemption. They both opposed the war anyway as did I on the grounds that it was a civil war and the North and South should be left to sort it out themselves. A week later, another letter arrived from The Department of Defense. It rescinded the original letter and indicated that a mistake had been made with the numbers. I was in fact drafted.
‘Dad. I said. I am not a conscientious objector in the normal sense. God only knows I would fight to defend my country but this is an unjust war. I won’t have any part of it.’ Dad looked at me with the indulgent understanding that only springs to life when a father knows that his son is in need of his love and help. Without saying anything, he walked out the kitchen door into the rear garden. He sat on one of the outdoor chairs, looked up at the sky, and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he went to the woodshed. When he came inside, he had a bottle of 1956 Grange. A special vintage put down for the Melbourne Olympic Games of that year.
‘What’s the number son?’ I gave it to him from memory fully knowing his intentions. He rang the number.
‘Sir Ronald Courtenay Please.’
‘Who may I ask is calling?’
‘Paddy O’Neil.’
‘Just one moment sir and I will see if he is available.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I have a 1956 Grange I would like to share with you.’
‘ ’Did you say 1956? The Olympics Vintage.’
‘That’s exactly what I said.’
‘My place 8pm tomorrow night.’
‘That got the bastard.’
Paddy O’Neil meets Sir Ronald Courtenay (Paddy’s version)
I arrived at the agreed time and was ushered into the library and invited to take a seat in front of a large oak desk. The chair was decidedly lower than the desk so that the occupant of the chair would be looking down on his visitor. Don’t fall for that one Paddy my boy I said to myself so instead I sat in one of two chairs that had a coffee table between them. I placed the bottle of Grange on the table and waited. Some twenty minutes or so later Sir Ronald walked in and without so much as a greeting picked up the bottle examined it, went to the buffet near the fireplace produced a corkscrew opener together with two crystal glass’s came back poured the wine and proceed to look at his glass for what seemed an eternity. After a minute or so I broke the silence.
‘I can assure you its authentic Sir Ronald.’ I said.
‘Shush, look at the color; look at the clarity the consistency.’
‘It tastes all right too.’ I ventured. He took a sip and allowed the contents to swirl around the interior of his mouth. When he swallowed a beguine look of satisfaction covered his face.
‘Like nectar to the god’s.’ He said.
‘That pretty much sums it up.’ I agreed.
‘May I enquire as to the means by which you procured this gift from God?’
‘Well Sir Ronald, like any good journalist I prefer not to name my source.’ I said.
‘Are you able to get more?’
‘I can be here every Wednesday night with a bottle or two.’ I answered.
‘Sounds like bribery.’ He said
‘As you wish.’
‘It is one I am willing to accept.’
Then I took a punt and said. ‘You know Sir Ronald; we have so much to learn from people we disagree with that it’s a wonder we don’t do it more often.’ The irony of what I had said escaped him and he laughed. In a moment, his mood changed as he caught the seriousness my statement.
‘Never considered that.’ He said. ‘I suppose there’s something in it.’
‘I don’t suppose you have read Bernard Crick’s “In Defense of Politics” I asked him.
‘Matter of fact I have.’
‘What did you think?’
‘Fascinating read. I couldn’t get my head out of it. He replied.
That was how our relationship began. Over a period, we became the firmest of friends. Who would have thought? The fabulously wealthy Eaton educated Knight of the Garter, Minister for Foreign Affairs in the Australian Government and the wharfie shop steward. A few weeks after our first meeting a telegram arrived indicating that Ryan had been exempted from the draft. It didn’t give any reason why. It just offered an apology for any inconvenience he may have suffered. During the course of my meetings with Sir Ronald, we discussed many subjects and he always listened with sincerity and genuine interest. When we differed, our discourse could grow its own legs but it was always civil. Often the next week we would go over our conversation of the previous week and find common ground. We never proselytized each other. The Vietnam War and Australia’s involvement in it was always on the agenda. Social justice often came up and we agreed to disagree on certain aspects. He opposed strongly the economic theories of Maynard Keynes but surprised me when I said that capitalism needed regulation.
‘I agree entirely my friend. It may have won the economic argument but if it’s not regulated some day, it will get us into trouble. We wrangled over Orwell’s “Animal Farm” and “1984”. We examined Plato, Socrates, Mark Twain, Churchill, Roosevelt and the madness of Hitler’s “Mien Kamph”. Then one day he asked me about Ryan.
‘What is it you would like to know?
‘About his interests, ambitions and character.’ he said.
‘You might find me biased but he is the son that every father would ever hope for. He is very high on principle and loyalty. People just seem to be attracted to him. He has a talent for words and hopes to become a writer. He is writing his first novel at the moment. You and I feature in it.
‘Really.’ He said.’ Why you and me?’
‘Well its titled “Poles Apart” but a girl and boy are the central characters.
‘And is the character of the girl based on my daughter?’
‘Yes Ronald.’ I said. I had dropped the Sir on his insistence some time ago.
‘And is your son in love with Alicia?’
‘Irrevocably so Ronald they are infatuated with each other.’
‘And is there any point me fighting it.’
‘None whatsoever.’ The lad has a bit of passion for a fight. It’s the Irish ness I think.’
‘Yes I know. I’ve been on the receiving end of one of his rebukes.’
‘Yes.’ I replied. ‘I heard about that’.
‘So tell me about your own upbringing Ronald. Was there much love in it.’
‘Hardly ever saw them.’ He said and tears swelled up in his eyes.
‘Dam you Paddy. Why are you so bloody perceptive? Is your son like that too?
‘Chip of the old block Ronald I said as I refilled his glass.
Paddy O’Neil meets Sir Ronald Courtenay (Sir Ronald’s version)
I think I fell in love with the person of Paddy O’Neil the moment we finished our first glass of 56 Grange. It was undoubtedly the finest wine I had ever tasted. By love, I mean in the tradition of Australian mateship but having said that the word love would by no means be improper. He had a charisma about him that was irresistible. When he came to my library that night I must admit my mood was not gracious. I think I was still carrying the aftermath of his son’s rebuke some months earlier. Later when my conscience and I showed themselves, I apologized. He was however, the most impressive man I had ever come across. He dispensed sentences as though he was distributing accumulated wisdom and he would have rivaled Menzies with his oratory skills. With all that, he had a quiet dignity and he had an understanding of human nature that left me in awe of him. I think that what won me over was when he said. We have so much to learn from people we disagree with that it’s a wonder we don’t do it more often. At first, I laughed but then I realized that by implication he was inviting me to express my views and that he was prepared to listen. Later when we became firm friends, I asked him to drop my title because I held him in such esteem that it seemed inappropriate. We were both familiar with the works of Shakespeare and took delight in reciting pieces of Henry the Eighth and other works. Paddy had a phenomenal memory and quoted lengthy passages from the Bible. Nevertheless, I think it was in our private debates that we both excelled. We discussed anything and everything. He listened when I spoke of my philosophical political values and eventually I came to see that I was more liberal in my views than I had thought. I had a reputation of being from the extreme right. We talked about the ‘The Fourth Estate’ and its duty as the custodian of public conscience. Marx, Lenin, Lincoln, McCarthy and authors like Patrick White, Tolstoy. Hemmingway, Homer, and Samuel Johnson did not escape our scrutiny.
There came a time when I asked him about his son. I had long ago called of the hounds from ASIO and The Federal Police and I had had the Department of defense cancel Ryan’s call up notice. Guilt was my companion and I was forced to live with it. He said that he could only describe Ryan from a position of bias. The boy has an aura about him that people are attracted to. When he finished his synopsis of his son’s character, he had a look of benign satisfaction on his face. For my part I could not but be impressed with the love, they shared. He was indeed a chip of the old man’s block. I knew I felt the same about Christopher and Alicia but I was by no means demonstrative. One night he was telling me about how Alicia and Ryan often stayed over when I was away. I was not surprised but was comforted when assured me that they were committed to a platonic relationship for the time being. Then he surprised me by saying that Christopher and his friend Roger also stayed at his home. Then he spoke of the tolerance of difference that we now shared and how love overcame dispute and anger. At first, I could not pick up the thread of his discourse. Then suddenly it dawned on me that he was referring to the difference that I had discerned in Christopher over many years without putting my finger on it. He was telling me that my son was a homosexual. Well he didn’t say it but I was sure that was what he meant. So I asked him.
‘Are you telling me that my son is a queer?’
‘If he was, it would be up to him to tell you not me.’ But since you asked. How would you respond Ronald?’ I hesitated for a long time and said.
‘Well Paddy my friend the truth can be uncomfortable but there is no pain in it.’
How true.’
Well there was a time when I would have disowned him but you have taught me to understand and accept difference. And I love him as you do Ryan.’
‘Then you need to have a chat with him. Should we open another bottle? Just for old friend’s sake.’ he asked. Little was I to know that they would be the last words I would ever hear from my friend Paddy O’Neil say.
‘Ryan, Ryan There’s an urgent call for you. Some bloke called Angelo Armando.’ I took the phone from the sub editor and a voice came down the line speaking in highly excited Italian.
‘Slow down Ange, speak English.’ I said.
And so in broken English Paddy’s offsider from the docks explained that my dad had been hit by a pallet of cement bags in a hold they were loading for export to Japan. Apparently, the crane driver had lost control and he had been crushed against another pallet. He told me I should get to St Vincent’s straight away. When I entered his room, my mother was sitting in a chair next to the bed-holding dad’s hand. A Priest was standing next to her. The significance of his presence hit me like a bolt of lighting. Then I heard my dad say my name. I took his hand.
‘Please don’t go Dad.’ I said. Speak to Donald were the last word I heard him say.
At home that evening the house was filled with my brothers and sisters and the beauty of good-hearted people. I accepted their condolences in a manner befitting the son of a great teacher. Then I went to the shed and got two bottles of grange. Take him with you my mother said to me as she kissed me at the front door. It was a Wednesday night. The night he always went to Sir Donald’s. I knew what she meant. I parked the FJ outside the entrance to Sir Ronald’s estate. As I walked up the long driveway, a thunderstorm erupted, I was only wearing jeans and a T Shirt and by the time, I rang the doorbell I was drenched to the bone. Sir Donald answered the door and when he saw me, a quizzical look crossed his face. He had expected to see Paddy but instead the brazen boy who had dared tackle him so long ago confronted him.
‘Where is Paddy?’ He said.
‘He’s not coming Sir Ronald’.
‘Why not?’
‘He’s dead Sir Ronald. I came to ask if you would be kind enough to deliver the eulogy at his funeral.’
Alicia and Chris arrived on the scene and Sir Ronald told Chris to take the bottles. We would later laugh about his sense of priority. Then the emotion of my loss got the better of me and I collapsed on the doorstep. Sir Ronald picked me up and carried me to Alicia’s bedroom.
‘Alicia, get the lad out of those clothes and into the shower.’ said Sir Donald’
‘Me father.’
‘Well as I understand it. It wouldn’t be the first time you have seen Ryan naked.’
‘No Father, I mean yes Father.’
‘And Christopher fetch one of your tack suits. I’ll see him in the library when he’s ready.’
When I entered the library, Sir Ronald was sitting at his desk. From the look of his eyes, he had been crying. He was speaking on the phone to my mother; I caught the tail end of the conversation.
‘Yes we had become very close. Like brothers actually. Yes, I would be honored to deliver the eulogy. No not at all and I think Ryan should stay here for the night. We have a lot to talk about. I will have him home early in the morning.’ Sir Ronald invited me to sit in the chair where my father usually sat and we began a conversation that did not end until Alicia knocked on the door to say it was after midnight. He took me through many of the conversations he and my father had. I was familiar with much of it because Dad spoke of the change that had come over Sir Ronald. He often needed to pause and regain his composure when he was emotionally overcome.
‘Your father was a giant of a man and a gentleman in every sense of the word.’ he told me. I pored out my heart to him about the love I had for my father and he comforted me with the gifted sincerity of his words. He asked me about my aspirations, my job and my novel “Poles Apart”. Then he asked me about Alicia.
‘What can I say? Your daughter is the most precious thing in the world. I don’t think I could exist without her.’
‘Yes, I can understand that.’ That was all he said. Then he asked me about Christopher and Roger.
‘Did my dad talk to you about the acceptance of difference?’
‘Yes he did.’
‘Then you don’t need my opinion. Roger is a wonderful person and they will both make brilliant social justice lawyers when they graduate.’
‘Your father was right. You are indeed a chip of the old block.’ We had drunk a bottle and a bit of the Grange when Alicia knocked on the door.
‘You two had better be of to bed then. Is Christopher still up?’
‘I’m here father.’ Said Christopher from the hallway.
‘Pop into the library son and pour two glasses of Grange would you? There’s something we need to talk about.’
‘Is it about the acceptance of difference father?’
‘Dam it.’ Why is everyone always ahead of me? And he laughed making a sound that had not been heard in the mansion for years. I gave Chris a wink that said. ‘It’s all right mate.’ as I walked past. In the morning I awoke with the sound of Sir Donald’s voice knocking on Alicia’s door imploring me to wake.
‘Come on you two sleepy heads. There’s a lot to be done.’ At breakfast, Sir Donald informed me that he had taken the liberty of ringing the editor of The Age and talked him into allowing me extended time off with pay. In fact as much time as I needed to get over the loss of my Dad and to finish my book.
‘How did you manage that?’ I said.
‘Well they think very highly of you and I promised them an exclusive in a few weeks time. And Ryan, please call me Ronald.
One day bled into the next and before I knew it, the day for Dad’s funeral was upon us. My father was held in such high esteem within the Trade Union Movement, and the general community that the family approved his funeral being held in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. Archbishop Ahern agreed to conduct the mass. The Cathedral was packed with an assortment of atheists, communists, socialists, various community groups, believers, non-believers and a sprinkling of opposition members. Although the mass was solemn, I did not intend to allow it to degenerate into a morose affair. Well-known artists who were happy to donate their services sang some of his favorite Irish songs.
I spoke on behalf of the family and when I introduced Sir Ronald to deliver the eulogy a murmur of disquiet reverberated through the cathedral. He began with the words. ‘We have so much to learn from people we disagree with that it’s a wonder we don’t do it more often.’ ‘This was the first of many things Paddy taught me.’ There was a hum of amusement followed by a realization that the knight and the shop steward were close friends. A deep resonant voice of Scottish Presbyterian heritage combined with the eloquence of practiced speech making combined to deliver a eulogy that would have made even a humble man like Paddy O’Neil proud. At the very end he paused, looked around the packed Cathedral and then directly at Alicia and I sitting in the front row holding hands.
‘In conclusion I would just like to say that should Paddy’s son Ryan ever ask for the hand of my daughter in marriage then I would be the proudest man on earth.’ Then he lowered his tone almost to a whisper and turned to the Archbishop. ‘And I would expect that Rome would allow special dispensation under the circumstances. After all cabinet is discussing state aid for private schools.’ The crowd laughed at the blatant suggestion of bribery.
A small gathering for family and friends was held at our West Heidelberg home and the Bentley parked outside with the chauffer polishing the duco was the talk of the street for months later. While mixing with the crowd in the back yard I noticed Sir Ronald in animated conversation with Angelo Armando. He then took out his wallet and passed a wad of cash to Angelo. I had never in my life seen such an amount of money in the flesh so to speak. When I later questioned him, he said that he had stumbled on the source of the Grange and was ensuring a future supply for he and his son in law to be. ‘The conversation on Wednesday nights simply wouldn’t be the same without it. Don’t you agree?’
‘Yes Ronald.’ I answered.
At Sir Ronald’s invitation, my mother and I moved into the Eaglemont Estate, my mother accepting the position of housekeeper replacing his existing one who was moving back to England. I chose to use a separate bedroom lest the allure of my love for Alicia got the better of me. I did propose and Sir Ronald insisted that he pick up the tab for the wedding. We decided that it should take place on the lawns of the estate. Sir Donald arranged for a large marquee to be erected for two hundred guests and a sumptuous affair it was. The Catholic Church did grant dispensation and the wedding was held on a hot Saturday afternoon on the day of my twenty first year. Father O’Malley the local priest and Reverend Salsbury jointly conducted the service in the presence of the wealthy, the middle class and the deprived. At the end of Sir Ronald’s speech, which was, full of the spirit of love that had so eluded his life. He dropped a bombshell by announcing that he had resigned from cabinet and would retire from politics. His intention he said was to go back to practicing law with his son Christopher and his companion Roger Thornley. They would specialise in the area of social justice. I looked over at Chris. He went to his father and together they embraced as father’s and sons should.
‘Thank you Father, Chris whispered in his ear.’
‘Don’t thank me son. Thank Paddy O’Neil.
At 7pm, Alicia changed into the red dress that had so enchanted me when I first laid eyes on her. I put on the suit I always wore to the Heidelberg Town Hall and together we were escorted to the front gates by a happy but slightly inebriated group of well wishes. After many tears and good luck wishes, we drove to the Town Hall. I went to the pillar where I first laid eyes on her and Alicia sat in the place where she used to sit. When the bandleader announced a Fox Trot, she left her seat and started walking toward me. A young man who asked her to dance stopped her. She politely refused his overture and continued on her way. When we met, we recognized the tune the band was playing. It was ‘A Certain Smile’ by the popular singer Johnny Mathis. Alicia put her head on my shoulder and said.
‘I love you Ryan Francis O’Neil.’
I responded by saying that the feeling was mutual.
We walked to the Milk Bar in Heidelberg Road, ordered a milkshake, and sat at our usual table. Alicia asked where I was taking her for our first night.
‘It’s a surprise.’ I said. ‘We don’t have to go far so there’s no hurry. We lingered and then drove to Studley Park.
‘Ryan, are we going where I think we are?’
‘Yes.’
I had arranged for the boat keeper to leave a boat tied firmly to a tree. I rowed upstream for some distance until we were not far from the willow tree. Alicia commented on the lateness of the hour and the onset of darkness. Her fears were allayed when we rounded the bend and the glow of a hundred candles lining the sandy shore bore witness to a tent with rugs laid at its entrance. A picnic hamper was placed on the rugs and a piece of string could be seen tied to a rock and emerging from the water. As we drew closer, two figures dressed in tuxedos came out of the darkness got into a canoe and silently paddled past us. Those two are amazing! Alicia said. We alighted from the boat and I held her in my arms.
‘Let’s go for a swim.’ I said. We undressed and entered the tepid night water of the river illuminated by flickering candles. We frolicked about as we had many times before but we knew this time it would different.
We stood waist deep in a lover’s embrace, looked at each other and my cheeky Irish grin melted into her certain smile. We kissed a kiss that had waited to long for the moment. Then she led me to the tent and through the awkwardness of our inexperience, we created an unforgettable togetherness.
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