Jim

The blow to his heart was massive. The loss in the family seemed never ending and the telegram his hands grasped brought a vision of Mary back to stand in front of him. An apparition of an angel, his beloved lost wife here, in his time of great need.

Why Phil and Lorraine?

Why our family?

Why take such lovely people from this earth and leave thieves and murderers to remain and walk among us. Bloody ludicrous. Bloody madness.

"Why does this happen Mary?"

Mary never answered; she never did. She floated in the edge of his vision but he could no longer see her. Her presence was felt in his heart, but in the room, she no longer dwelled.

Jim's eyes reddened and his heart pained as he sank heavily with defeat to the corner of his bed. The years leave craters of pain, and lines of hurt.

Why?

"Mary" he whispered "...take care. Take care of yourself and your brother... Lorraine too, my love. Sit in the gardens of heaven and sing and frolic without pain and...and.. distresssss"

He was a stoic man and usually tears remained well hidden. But here, in his safe place, enclosed behind the locked doors of his only sanctuary ... he relented and let them spill.

Down his cheeks like rain, running to his chin then a swift crashing drop to the thick telegram paper which was scrunched, fisted tight in his left hand laid rigid on his thigh. His right hand rubbed all over his face tiredly til the left joined and together he let them cover his eyes from the light streaming in his window.

So he could be alone, inside himself.

A sob escaped then two, the telegram in its fisted state was thrown at the door in remorse and anger at the nasty way life had treated the Mohin side of this family. Jim through hands skyward, then, in defeat, let them fall to his skull to grasp his thinning hair and begged the one worded question 'Why?'

As there was no other word befit to say.

"What's the matter? Where's Da?" Michael had arrived after a call from Jim's new wife.

Ange had been concerned from the outset. Jim's lips thinned and his eyes immediately turned red, like they had begun to burn in pain. Whatever was in the telegram he received had him hightail it up the stairs immediately. And now it was tea time, he hadn't left the bedroom all afternoon. "You fighting with him already Ange?... 'ello there Ruthy girl"

"Hi!" Ruth waved and ran in for a cuddle from her new, very much older, step brother. She was in a hurry though, she bolted away, ducking back outside to sit with her dolls who all seemed to be having a grand afternoon tea on the terrace. Mike laughed at her antics; she definitely was a live wire.

"Don't be daft. I wouldn't call you if that was the case." Tugging the tea-towel from off the kitchen counter Ange followed Michael to the bottom of the staircase "Anyhow Jim's a saint. I couldn't find fault with him ever" Ange glanced up the stairs and lowered her voice "He won't come out Michael ...... I'm worried" As if in pain herself, Ange pleaded with Jim's youngest son for answers "What-ever's the matter, do you think?"

"Don't worry he probably lost a bet on the nags again" Smiling his award-winning smile Michael squeezed his new step-mum's shoulder "I'll go tell him Paul will bring more money"

"Don't you dare! You know he doesn't like asking Paul for things"

Michael stood half up the stairs, half down and frowned in jest-ful mirth "Pauls loaded Ange.... if you hadn't noticed" Which she didn't seem to have. Ange was a beautiful person, inside and out thus far and even with distrust swirling at the start of her courtship with their father, she had won both Paul and himself over amazingly fast "Da doesn't ask for things but Paul will always put anything needed, to rights"

"He got a telegram Michael......." Ange held the banister tightly. She had no clue on how to tempt an otherwise normal chap from his room "Always sadness in them I find"

"I'll go 'ave a chat. Put the kettle on would you. Dying for a cuppa" Michael smiled as Ange nodded and went to fuss about for tea. He then murmured to himself, as he climbed higher 'O.K, what's up old boy?'

"Da. It's me- Mike" The door was definitely locked and even though Michael knew Ange was downstairs he felt that if he tinkered with the lock and marched straight in, he might walk in on something he would rather not see. He jiggled the door handle incessantly instead "Da?"

Michael seemed to have stepped into the role of the eldest child of late, what with Paul always away overseas and all that other band nonsense. It seemed left to the youngest now to help with chores in the garden and fixing things that were no longer easy for their father.

Mike heard from his side of the woodwork the curtains tug along the overhead rail and he knew his father was alright if only a bit tardy in the opening of the door. He jiggled the handle once more, hoping to get a merciful yet grumbly rise out of his Da.

"I'm coming. I'm coming. Hold your racehorses" Mike had his wish and grinned wide. Annoy enough and father would come to hound him for the intrusion.

His plan was simple. Get Da out the bedroom and back downstairs with the enticement of a fresh pot of England's finest tea and a fat slice of Angie's deliciously moist vanilla sponge cake that she probably hadn't made yet. Only wishful thinking on the cake situation, mind . That was until he saw the utter desolation and pain written across his aging fathers face...

"Bloody 'ell did the Queens nag win Ascot again"

Jim wasn't in the mood for merry makers nor jesters, and certainly not fools. All of which Michael was as he stood in the doorway of the room.

He had cried his tears, used a flannel to wash and cool his face, now all he wanted to do was get the past out in the open where it should have been all along.

Theresa and her family's' photographs had destroyed him as he solemnly contemplated his way through the album. Pages of smiles and happiness. A family that Mary had helped make staring out at him, growing as every page turned. "You kerb that wit of yours at the door today Michael, I'm not in the right mind to put up with flippant tomfoolery this afternoon"

"Sorry dad. Can I help at all? You look... bloody awful"

"Watch your tongue. Your mother wouldn't let you get away with such language and I shan't either" Jim stepped aside in the doorway and Mike had no other choice but to step past.

His dad was a proud fellow, always had a certain air about him. Proper, right. Never the mask slipped... But this afternoon as he locked the door and passed Michael by. He looked frail, aged and tired, nauseated even. Mike bite his tongue and watched his father tug his departed mothers' photograph, that stood proudly at the back of the dresser, toward him and proceeded to take the back off.

It was the start of the journey that sat behind Marys photograph. Lorraine's excited letter back to the McCartney's. He passed the Air Letter to Mike without as much as a boo and went to lay on the bed beside a gold and bottle green photograph album that Mike had never seen before.

The Air Letter as it was called consisted of one thin long sheet of paper, with imprinted stamps and airmail labels. The sender had folded the sheet to conform to the size and shape. The pre-gummed flaps, provided for sealing the sheet into one piece with label and stamps outward, were still attached and a rough edge, from the letter knife used to open it, ran rough under Mikes fingers.

He began to read...

15th May, 1940

Dearest Mary,

When I first opened your correspondence, I was elated. Another letter from England! Welcomed, of course my dear, for you are my very favourite sister in law!

And then I read the contents. And to say I was stunned is a vast understatement.

I re-read once more. And would you dare believe... I hurriedly ran my eyes over all the words all over again!!! My goodness Mary really!? It can't be true. Can it? Really Mary!?!

Phillip says you know your own mind and I should say a thousand yeses......

And I do.

No- More!!! A million times YES!!!

My darling Mary, my 'brother' Jim, we will look after and care, support, nurture, keep safe, stand in good stead, make you proud.... but most of all we will love this child you deliver us, completely. We will love the miracle you deliver us forever and a day... Longer if I had my way.

Your trust in your brother is, of course, warranted. He is a prize of a husband and I am sure he will be a darling, excellent, daddy. The precious gift you bless is weighty within my heart and I shudder as I think of the wonderful, stupendous treasure you bestow upon me to keep safe.

I am grateful. I am humbled, and oh so happy. So happy you cannot fathom the depth. So happy I dashed across fields and the spring creek to share the wonderful news with Phil. He thought I was balmy but I was just so so very tearful and joyous.

You offer to share your heart and life with us and I will give all of my heart and love to this special gift. A child, our family's child. Your child, ours.

Bless you sister and now, I must make plans to see you all, so very, very soon.

All My Loving. Hugs and kisses,

Lorraine and your brother Phillip

"....I don't understand...?" Mike paused and read over the yellowed soft paper a second time. Neither trusting his eyes or where his thoughts raced. The paper, tissue like in its weight, was a ton of questions to him.

"A baby?"

"Dad ..... This..... Dad?" Michael breathed deeply and began again "Dad this looks like Auntie Lorraine is saying mum gave a baby to her and Uncle Phillip..."

Jim scarcely moved his head to nod yet it was enough for Mike to draw a sharp breath and hold it in surprise. Jim carefully slipped a photograph from the bottle green and gold album. A beaming girl of four or five years of age sat proud, high up on a pony's back. Phillip grinned out of the picture as he safely held the bridle, reins looped to lay in his other hand.

Her eyes, her cheeks, all reminding Mike of Paul.

"Is this Paul?" Mike knew deep down it wasn't. It couldn't be. Paul never went to Australia at that age and the dogs at Phillips feet were his working dogs. Thin and wiry cattle dogs, there was no denying that they were anything but Australian Kelpies "This is Paul isn't it..." Michael re-countered to edge out the implications of his thoughts.

This is balmy, Mum and Da would never...

"Don't let Paul hear you calling him a lass, boy"

"This is the baby from the letter? What, or should I now say whom,  Lorraine is gushing about?"

Jim was tired but excitement rose within. His, no, Mary and his wonderful secret was coming alive. He sat up and tugged Mike to sit a good bit closer beside him. He couldn't speak, excitement rallied forth as he now burst with the possibilities. Lorraine and Phillip had departed, perhaps it was a sign. A sign to let this secret, this special secret breath in the family.

Jim dragged Mike ever nearer and grasped the album tight to his chest then, with a smile, yes, a smile, he plopped the album in Mikes hand. He was using instinct now. Trusting Mike to be positive with this wonderful information and news.

Finally, the boys would know.

A treasury of photographs now opened carefully on Mikes lap, his dad gently running a hand over an infant's face, hair, down arms, tracing down the infants chubby legs...

In one posed portrait right at the front, Mary stood beaming happily behind Lorraine who was sat, proud as punch, on an armchair that looked very similar to the one in the downstairs front parlour. A tiny infant in Lorriane's arms. "This, Michael, is Theresa" Jim smiled with pride as he remembered Marys happiness at their making Phil and Lorraine parents "Blessed your mother was. Kindness knowing no bounds. Theresa was born early December 1940 and in early January '41 she sailed away to her new home..."

"And Theresa is...." Mike turned a page then another, the little girl so familiar yet different. He understood what his father was revealing but wanted Jim to say it explicitly. So he, the son, made no mistake of this discovery that was now being shared with him. "Dad.....?"

"Alright, make me say it then..." Jim turned three pages further in, a spitting image of Mary from her early nursing days stared back at both of them "Son, ...this is your sister, Theresa. Your mother and I, as Lorraine said in the letter, blessed our first born to some very deserving folk in Australia"

Michael was up off the bed and pacing the room. With every pass, he paused to study his fathers' face; to gauge if there was any trace of an overly large, and well thought out prank, lurking within.

No hide nor hair of a cheeky grin was flittering across the countenance of Jim McCartney.

'And you left it til now.... Til I'm almost twenty to tell me?!? Does Sparky know about her!!??" Flopping back down on the bed, he once again dragged the album closer. Mike thoughtfully ran a hand down the spine of the portfolio of photographs of his new sister before making his way, with soft hands, across the front cover "...I've not seen this album before"

"No Paul doesn't know. When will you stop with that Sparky nonsense, he's a grown adult now"

"Sparky, will always be Sparky, Da"

"Yes well, I suppose it's not the worst nickname in the world.... Right. Look. Yes you have been shown this album, but not recently. Not for many years I suppose.... We would sit up late and tell stories and what ifs... and try and slip the news into your minds when you both were youngsters. Do you remember that time your Uncle Phillip arrived and lugged all that bound tangle of correspondence inside. Must have been a potatoes sack half the size of Pauls Wednesday delivery of fan-mail...." Jim grinned fondly at the memory.

Mike nodded but he wasn't completely sure. He remembered larger than life Uncle Phillip, banging on the door, all tanned and noisy. He acted and sounded like he was still in the middle of outback of Australia when he was actually in a small house in the sleepy suburb of Allerton. His voice, there was no other word for it, boomed.

"Theresa wrote, painted and drew wonderful things. Telling us everything through her eyes. The happiness..."

Mike burst in on his fathers' thoughts... "I feel ripped off truth be told Da" His finger strayed over a photograph of a girl of his own age, tall and whip thin, dressed like a cattleman.. cattlewoman - moleskins, hat and a stockwhip, curled in a circle, on her shoulder. Smart sparkling eyes shined up at him from the page. His sister...His Sister... "December '40 you say?"

Mike flipped through the pages as he put the dates all together.

"Paul gave me such a hard time. Always with his annoying spruking. Saying I'm the oldest this, I'm the smartest that" Glancing at his dad for confirmation, that Theresa was indeed the eldest, Jim gave a swift nod and made for the wardrobe in the corner. "She's older than Sparky! Wait til he hears that news. His bloody nose will be dislocated outta joint, it will!" Mike crowed with laughter, his grin wide and eyes sparkling, maybe a sister was a good thing after all...

Fetching down Mary's old sewing workbox Jim removed the lid, pulled the lining back and let a mountain of letters and colourful pictures scatter across the bed. His fingers sieved through the pile to find a simpler one with one word 'Theresa' scrawled on it in pink crayon. Fumbling handwriting, large and unsteady lurched across the page, he grinned at the childish writing.

"So, why now Da? After all this time. Were you worried Paul and I would be angry before?"

"We did worry about your feelings for a time, but that's just it, isn't it. Time. Time marches on. Paul grows, you, Theresa. And life sneaks up on you, overtakes and has you now sat on my bed a man, no longer a boy...." Jim fetched the telegram and handed it to Michael "I'm sorry to say son; Your uncle Phil and aunt Lorraine unfortunately died in a car accident last Wednesday"

"Oh goodness, that's horrible news! Would you like to go to Australia and help Theresa for a bit? I'm sure we could all manage everything here for you, keep an eye on Ang and Ruthy"

"Oh no lad. that girl.... Here, read the telegram. You'll get a wiff of her personality..."

Mr Jim McCartney- 'Rembrandt' 4 Baskervyle Road, Heswall, Wirral, United Kingdom

Sorry to send news like this. STOP. Mum and Dad perished in Auto accident. STOP. I'll soldier on with property. STOP. Do them proud. STOP. Will write more when time avails. STOP. Onwards and Upwards as Daddy would say. STOP.

Theresa Mohin-'Sunset Plains', Taldora, Queensland, 4823 (via Normanton PO, 4890)

"But she's just a girl"

"Arr but she's Phillips girl, and that girl has spunk. She won't let the property go to rack and ruin without a good, proper fight. I assure you of that"

"But surely not, she lost her...."

"Go on, it's alright son. Say it. Parents"

"Yes ok, she lost her parents, her family. She must be heartbroken" Mike grimaced as he spoke the word parents. He could see his Da was waging two warring battles within himself an' all. One that he was her actual father and two that he must play the role of uncle. It would be a wearing experience on anyone.

"Yes well, loss is a terrible thing. You and I both know that, don't we. And we both know we 'ave to put one foot in front of the other." Jim tapped the photograph Mike had taken a shine to "She knows where I am. I will message her promptly and remind her she has family here"

"I want to meet her!"

"Give her some time son"

"When are you telling Paul... or does he really already know?"

"Arr well that's the tricky pickle isn't it. That lad being in one place for more than a few minutes would be a miracle.... Then the game of ....'getting him to actually listen' begins..."

Jim watched Mike stare down at his newly discovered sister, her eyes shining back at him from the photograph "Are you... mad at me son?" With one last look at Theresa's pretty face Jim closed the photo album. Mike dragged his fingers and gaze away, as the pages turned to close "Mad....... at the decision your mother, bless her soul, and I made so long ago?"

"In a way, but it's more a selfish feeling really. That I missed out, that I didn't have a sister to prank or gang up on Paul with" Grinning he continued "That I couldn't share washing up duties with her, perhaps even protect her" Mike frowned at the thoughts running through his head "You and Ma made a noble decision, one that made two people dear to you happy, right?"

Jim nodded and squeezed his wise son's shoulder.

"I think you are the best, kindest Dad in the whole wide world"

Glossary-

Kelpie- a great little working dog. Built tough. Fantastic herded. 'Red Dog' is a fantastic Aussie movie!