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